Page 11 of Cold Foot Revenge (Wreck’s Mountains #7)

“There she is,” Gary Roberts called as she made her way in through the back entrance.

“Gary, how many times have I told you,” she said, startled. “You can’t wait for me back here. I’ll be out when my shift starts.”

Her old regular was missing a bunch of teeth and smelled like straight whiskey tonight as he rested his arm on the dressing room door and told her, “I waited for you last night.”

“It was my day off,” she said, brushing past him.

He followed her right in, but none of the other dancers in there even reacted. Guys came in here all the time.

“I’ll be out in a little bit,” she said, trying to block his view of Kristy, who was completely naked putting on her make-up.

“Oh, come on, honey. What your wearing is fine. I’ve been waiting two days for a private dance.”

“She said fuck off, Gary,” Lucky called out in a gritty voice. She was the momma hen of the dancers. She looked seventy-five but really, she was only fifty-five or so.

“Oh, go on then, Lucky. No one here’s tryin’ to see you.”

Lucky shoved him right out of the room. “You can wait until she’s on shift like every other eager pecker in here.”

“I ain’t no eager pecker,” he yelled as the door closed behind he and Lucky.

That momma bear was probably driving him directly into his normal seat front row on stage number three.

Roxy exhaled a steadying sigh and closed her eyes, counted to three, and then turned for her seat at the mirror.

“You okay?” Kristy asked.

Roxy forced a smile. “Just another amazing night in the life.”

“Oh, come on girl,” she said easily as she applied thick eye liner. “That ain’t the attitude that’ll get you paid, and you know it.”

Roxy stared at her bare face in the mirror and felt empty. “You ever just want to pack up and leave?” she asked.

Lucky came marching in through the door, mumbling about ‘puckered assholes’ or some-such.

Kristy was staring at her. “You know you can’t leave. Grave won’t let you.”

“But do you ever think about it?” Roxy asked.

“No. Thinking things like that is dangerous. This is what we are, Rox. We are dancers, we please men, we are the fantasy. We make our money and pay our bills and don’t depend on anyone. We’re the ones the girls want to be like, and the ones boys want to be with. It ain’t so bad. Chin up.”

But Kristy was wrong. Girls didn’t want to be like her.

Not really. Sure, Pamela wanted her to show her some dance moves, but at the end of the day, would Pamela trade her lives?

Hell no. Not if she knew what it was like.

What it felt like to be lusted after but never loved.

Did the boys really want to be with her and Kristy?

With Lucky? Roxy didn’t think so. They got lost in the fantasy of it, but if they went home with her, they would see her without the make-up, without the fake jewels and fishnet glamor.

They would see her struggling to pay her bills and making Hamburger Helper with nearly expired beef because that’s all she could afford.

They would see her leaky roof, and her tiny duplex, and wonder why the hell Roxy-on-stage was so different from Roxy-the-real-woman.

No one wanted this. Kristy was just telling herself that so she could paint a genuine smile on her lips and look like she wanted to be here, because that’s what the men liked to see. That’s what got her paid better.

“You don’t think Grave would let me go?” she asked.

Lucky scoffed and locked her arms against the back of Roxy’s chair. “Child, have you lost your mind? You’re the only one Grave watches. You’re his.”

“I am not,” she gritted out.

“Oh, you’re pissed about the animal, I get it.

Grave might not admit it, but he gets it too.

He’s letting you throw your little tantrum because he likes the chase.

All you’re doing is making this fun for him.

” Lucky pushed off her chair and rearranged her sagging tits into her hot pink fake-leather bra.

“A man like him likes a hunt. He’ll never stop hunting you.

He created you to match him. You can accept it and settle into the life he is building you, or you can have nights like this, pissin’ and moanin’ about wantin’ more.

You can wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up faster.

” Lucky arched her black painted eyebrow at Roxy in the mirror.

“Accept it. You belong here. Always did.”

Roxy dropped her gaze to the make-up that littered the table in front of the mirrors so Lucky wouldn’t see the emotion in her expression.

Fuck, that hurt. She belonged here? Her? Roxy? She had always belonged here?

“Lucky is right,” Kristy said softly. “Best you accept it. The sooner the better. We’re a Crew.”

But she hadn’t chosen this Crew. Neither had Kristy, who had a panther inside of her that she hadn’t been okay with for the first entire year after the Grit-Bron Crew had Turned her.

“You don’t feel trapped here?” Roxy asked.

“I’m not trapped like you,” Kristy said.

Roxy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I know you owe Grave money. Everybody does.”

Heat washed up her neck and landed in her cheeks. “Who told you that?” she demanded in a whisper.

“Everybody knows.” She shrugged. “Or maybe it’s pillow talk. Leech talks a lot.”

“Oh, hell. You and Leech?” Roxy whispered.

Kristy’s crimson red smile was proud. “Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Why not? He’s my Maker.”

“He and Grave are everyone’s Maker here,” she whispered.

“Yeah but he picked me special. He told me. He’s just been waiting for me to be okay with the animal and make sure he didn’t have to put me down.”

“Put you…Kristy, you’re fucking a guy who talks about maybe he was going to have to kill you because of the animal he put in you? And talking about it casually like that? Like it’s no big deal? It’s a big deal!”

“Pipe down,” Kristy demanded, her eyes flashing with the bright gold of her animal.

“Forget I told you anything. It’s clear you aren’t happy with your life, and I don’t get it.

You have Grave. Grave! You have the Alpha.

You could be mate of the Alpha and you’re over here whining about do I ever feel trapped.

Hell no. I feel great. I have a great life.

Way better than the gutter where I came from!

You’re spoiled rotten,” Kristy said, standing.

Her bare tits bounced as she shoved the chair in and stomped away.

Roxy rolled her eyes closed and inhaled deep.

“You had that one comin’,” Lucky muttered as she walked past her to follow Kristy into the bathroom.

There were a couple of the other dancers in the room still, but they sat whispering a few seats away. They were new, and Roxy didn’t even know their real names yet. This place was a revolving door for dancers.

“Can I help you?” she demanded, irritated at the gossiping strippers.

The dark-haired one gestured to her. “We were just debating how long it’ll take one of the boys to notice your neck.”

“What?”

“Nice claiming mark.”

Roxy jerked her attention to the mirror, and just under the neck of her t-shirt, there was what looked like a cut. What the hell?

She yanked the neck of her shirt to the side and stood in a rush, leaning closer to the mirror.

“Oh my God,” she murmured in horror. Sure enough, it looked like a bite mark.

But…her mind was racing…Dylan had barely grazed her with his teeth when they were making out earlier.

It was just a tease. She hadn’t felt any pain.

He hadn’t broken the skin. There was no blood soaked into the fabric of her T-shirt.

But as she ran her fingertips over it frantically, it was swollen, and the teeth marks had opened the skin.

Why hadn’t she already healed this? Shifter healing should’ve taken care of this already, so why did it look red and angry?

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Panicked, she fumbled for the foundation and a blender sponge, and packed make-up onto it until it was mostly hidden, except for the swelling.

What was happening? Was she sick? Dylan was a human. If humans bit shifters, did it poison them or something? Who could she ask? Who could she trust here?

“You. Gretta. Gertrude.”

“Gretchen,” the dark-haired dancer gritted out.

“Right. I knew that. Do you have that high-necked bodysuit you wore the other night? The blue one?

“What’s it to you?”

“Can I borrow it?”

“You can buy it.”

“Buy it,” she whispered, frantically rifling through her purse. “I have,” she counted out crumpled dollar bills she’d stacked in her wallet. “Thirteen dollars.”

“Give me another twenty at the end of the night and I won’t even point it out to Grave,” she said smugly.

Breath trembling, Roxy nodded. “Deal.” She handed Gretchen the thirteen dollars, and tracked her movement as she made her way to the back of the room for her duffel bag.

“Please don’t say anything,” she told the other girl. “I don’t know what happened. It’s not what it looks like.”

The woman dipped her gaze to her neck, and when she lifted her softly glowing green eyes to Roxy, she said low, “I didn’t see nothin’.”

“Really?” she asked, daring to hope.

“I feel trapped too,” she said as she busied herself slowly spinning bright red lipstick out of the tube. “If one of those marks would fix my life, I would take nine of ‘em.” She sighed and began to apply the lipstick in the mirror. “Good luck tonight.”

Something was flying toward her, and on instinct, Roxy snatched the high-necked bodysuit out of the air.

Gretchen gave her an empty smile and sat back down to finish her make-up.

“The girls have one more song and then you are up,” Nick said from behind her.

Roxy startled hard, and tossed the bodysuit over her shoulder, covering her neck. “I’ll be ready,” she rushed out.

“Not you,” Nick said. “The boys want a word before you dance.”

“The boys,” she murmured, watching Nick make his way out of the door.

“Meet in the office,” he told her. “Five minutes.” His voice was hard as a shard of glass, and emotionless.